


LOG 1 // BIRTHDAYS

by omobot



Series: DEFECTIVE [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: M/M, Strong Language, abuse/trauma, but also tender robot slowburn, eye removal, generic sci-fi existential grunge, isolation/loneliness, mention of animal cruelty/death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:54:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23428045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omobot/pseuds/omobot
Summary: "Its name is Dimitri. It'll take good care of you."On his 21st birthday, Sylvain receives a gift from Miklan he isn't allowed to refuse.(Sylvain spends 24 hours with an android, the AU.)
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: DEFECTIVE [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1685293
Comments: 29
Kudos: 154





	LOG 1 // BIRTHDAYS

**Author's Note:**

> played very fast and loose with characters, this an AU through and through with a frenzied mishmash of every robot concept there ever was. please heed the warnings. beep boop.

Sylvain remembers the time he was five, when Miklan had gifted him a puppy. Golden fur, droopy eyes, excessively adorable and completely organic. It had cost a small fortune, Miklan had bragged. Sylvain hadn't known better at that age, and he had loved that puppy more than the world. It followed him everywhere he went, ate with him, bathed with him, curled up with him when he went to sleep. 

Miklan killed it a year later, when Sylvain turned six. 

And by the time Sylvain turned seven, he was old enough to understand it hadn't been an 'accident.' That his older brother despised him and would spend the rest of his life hating him. Hurting him. It began with broken toys and misplaced belongings, nothing immediately noticeable or even alarming. But Sylvain was a clever boy, and he quickly learned that if he wasn't careful, broken toys could just as easily turn into sprained ankles and bruised ribs. That Miklan wasn't only older and stronger than him, he was no less intelligent, _deliberate_ in his cruelty.

That one day, Miklan might actually kill him.

\---

Or maybe he wouldn't. Everything seemed to be a game to him, his objective to keep Sylvain playing for as long as possible. Blood is thicker than water, they say, but Sylvain wonders if it isn't just tar that runs through Gautier veins.

\---

"...Its name is Dimitri. It'll take good care of you," Miklan says, clapping a hand behind the android's neck. It's taller and broader than Sylvain and his sibling both. Blond hair, droopy eyes, seamlessly beautiful. Plastic perfect.

Sylvain is now twenty-one, and he knows exactly what Miklan is doing. And Miklan knows that he knows.

"You shouldn't have," Sylvain says with a smile, blinking carefully from humanoid to human. He can feel his stomach beginning to churn. He keeps smiling, fixing his line of vision well below Miklan's.

"Better than a dog, isn't it?" Miklan shrugs, sounding apologetic while not actually being sorry. "Still feel bad about that, really. Pops said you needed some company. Heard you were getting into all sorts of trouble before the storms hit."

Sylvain says nothing, gaze slowly sliding back to 'Dimitri.' He's met with a pleasant albeit lackluster smile. Almost like looking into a mirror.

"It'll clean up after you, make sure you eat, even wet your dick. It's got all the parts," His brother continues. He shifts from his spot as he speaks, gait heavy and unhurried as he circles around the android, his hand anchored to its shoulder.

"Nice of you to worry about me," Sylvain says. "You sure it's... screwed in properly?" He points to his own head and gives his finger a twirl.

"You mean safe? Oh yeah. I'll show you."

Sylvain has a terrible feeling about this. "Nah, you don't—"

He cuts himself off with a sharp inhale as Miklan helps himself to the android's right eye socket, fingers sinking in past the knuckles with a sudden, horrific squelch. Dimitri doesn't so much as flinch, but Sylvain swears he sees its— _his_ brow twitch once in pain, expression flitting from mild to vacant like the click of a camera shutter. Blood spills down his cheek, bright and blue.

Sylvain looks away until Miklan is finished. He knows better than to interrupt.

"If you don't like it, feel free to throw the thing out," Miklan says as he walks up to Sylvain, putting the artificial eye in his palm as if it were a cheap bauble, as if the cost of replacing it wouldn't feed an entire household for a year. As if he didn't deliberately damage the product to ensure Sylvain couldn't return it to whatever dubious counter Miklan had purchased it from.

"It's better than a woman, really," Miklan keeps going. "Won't bitch or say its knocked up with your brat. Perfect, yeah?"

Sylvain nods tersely. Dimitri says nothing, so completely still and unaffecting he practically blends into the colorless wall behind him.

"Smile would you? It's your damn birthday," his brother chuckles, the sound low in his throat like a growl.

"Thanks for the gift, Miklan," Sylvain says, smiling.

He watches him leave, still holding onto Dimitri's right eye. It's wet and cool to the touch.

\---

"Fuck that guy," Sylvain mutters under his breath, rinsing blue blood out of a hand towel and wringing the excess water from the fabric. He has Dimitri currently seated at the edge of the bathtub as he dabs at his injury. The bleeding had stopped almost instantaneously, he'd noted, the breach in the synthetic flesh isolated and mended of its own accord. The cleaning and concealing of the cavity was just for propriety's sake.

He doesn't know much about androids, maintenance or otherwise. The publications in circulation were largely commercial pamphlets targeting the first percentile of society, moreover his father preferred to keep human hires around the oversized estate.

Sylvain had asked him once out of sheer curiosity, and the margrave had responded that humans had studied humans for millennia, and artificial intelligence for a mere couple centuries at most. Perhaps the answer should've instilled in his son caution towards technology and the conceit of mankind, but Sylvain's never had a knack for self-preservation. Except, perhaps, where Miklan was concerned.

...He notices Dimitri staring up at him, his gaze so clear and cutting he can only hold it for so long before blinking away.

"Do you talk?" Sylvain asks wryly, fixing his attention on the empty eye socket. He can make out threads of light pulsing inside, the android's internal framework comprised of a rigid, semi-transparent material in lieu of skeletal matter. It's oddly beautiful.

"...Only when given permission," Dimitri says slowly, as if trying not to startle him. His voice is low and soft, intonation polished. Sylvain stares at him for a moment, intrigued, and resumes winding a roll of clean bandages around his 'patient's' forehead.

"Talk whenever you want, about whatever you want. Executive order," Sylvain says, smiling faintly to blunt the command. He isn't sure whether Dimitri comes equipped with a sense of humor, and at present his instincts say no. "It's always so damn quiet in here it drives me insane."

"...All right."

Silence follows immediately of course, and Sylvain would laugh if he didn't feel so much residual guilt. He can hear Dimitri breathing, near silent but still distinguishable. He wonders if it's a simulated mannerism, or the product of an actual respiratory system. He's aware he's interacting with a machine, but even machines deserved a better welcome than what Miklan had done. What Sylvain had allowed to happen. 

"...I'm sorry about your eye," he finally says. "Does it hurt...?"

The tension in Dimitri's shoulders eases by a fraction, and Sylvain realizes his impressively stiff posture isn't entirely baseline programming. He's been on edge the entire time.

"No. I'm able to modulate my pain threshold as necessary," Dimitri says.

"Right." Sylvain tries again. " _Did_ it hurt?" 

Dimitri opens his mouth and closes it again. Sylvain purses his lips, and to his surprise the android registers the nonverbal cue of displeasure.

"It was unpleasant. ...I'm very sorry to inconvenience you, Master Gau—"

" _Whoa,_ " Sylvain cuts him off with a flap of his hand and a snort. "Never call me that. It's 'Sylvain,' or 'handsome,' or 'hot stuff.' And don't apologize if you've done nothing wrong."

"I apolo— err. Understood, Sylvain." Dimitri actually flusters, single eye blinking rapidly as if he were a timid schoolboy and not some couple hundred pounds of innovation that could snap its human counterpart in two.

"You catch on quick. That's great," Sylvain laughs, winking and using his fingers to arrange Dimitri's hair so that it falls over the bandages. Dimitri reaches up to play with his bangs, looking remarkably self-conscious.

"This must be unsightly," he says with a disheartened sigh, to which Sylvain hums.

"You're worried what I think?"

"Of course, " Dimitri frowns, as if he'd been asked to compute basic arithmetic like a plastic calculator. "Your comfort is my sole concern."

Sylvain is about to test whether he can rewire Dimitri's logic, but wisely settles on simply shaking his head.

"You're gorgeous." He gives Dimitri a once-over, head tilting thoughtfully. "And actually, a little dent makes you seem more... real. Not that I'm _not_ gonna get you fixed, just. Y'know. Nobody's perfect."

Dimitri nods and smiles. It's small enough to miss if one isn't looking carefully, but Sylvain is watching his every move.

\---

He doesn't trust Miklan, and by extension he's wary of his so-called 'gift.' But the moment he saw his brother raise his hand against Dimitri, Sylvain knew he couldn't help but care.

He's sure that Miklan knows as well. That he's counting on it.

\---

Sylvain gives Dimitri free reign of the house while he showers off his late afternoon jog. (The Gautier grounds are needlessly vast, but Sylvain's run in the same bubble for two months now, and each time the loop gets smaller.)

He enters the kitchen to grab something to eat, stomach rumbling after cardio ignition and further stoked by the scent of roasting meat. Dimitri is busy at the stove, and Sylvain pads over to investigate, drawing his attention.

"Ah, I took the liberty of preparing dinner. You haven't eaten yet since I arrived, have you?"

"Haven't been hungry," Sylvain says lightly. Miklan had a knack for ruining his appetite. "But thanks, I'm starving now. Need help?" He expects Dimitri to refuse, but to his continued surprise, the android gestures him closer.

"If you wouldn't mind having a taste, please. I've inquired with the other employees as to your meal preferences, however..."

"You don't have taste buds?" Sylvain pipes up. Dimitri flushes slightly and nods. Sylvain wonders how his cheeks are able to turn so pink, when his blood runs so blue.

"I can only perceive texture," Dimitri explains. "Taste and smell are beyond my faculties. Though, I can detect smoke and other hazardous fumes."

"Can you get high?" Sylvain asks immediately.

"I cannot."

"Aww," Sylvain says as he steals a spoonful of a savory berry reduction. He recognizes it as soon as it touches his tongue, and a grin splits his mouth. "This is _the_ Molinaro recipe. You must be a big fan."

"I've read all his books," Dimitri admits, looking pleased.

\---

The pheasant roast is excellent, and he's made him a birthday cake as well. Twenty-one lit candles and all. 

" _Wow,_ " Sylvain says. Dimitri studies him, probably trying to determine whether he's being sarcastic. "No really, I'm touched. I haven't had a cake since I was—" _since he'd lost his dog_ "...a kid."

"Are you not fond of celebrations?" Dimitri asks hesitantly, looking back to what he'd prepared.

"Love 'em. Can't get enough," Sylvain says, pulling the entire platter toward him with gusto. He doesn't mention that his parents are always in Sreng on business this time of year, despite the sandstorms that kept everyone bubbled inside on both sides of the border. (If only the warnings and road closures ever kept Miklan out.) Sylvain also doesn't mention that he's not entirely on speaking terms with his friends, or that they're better off without him.

He's about to lean in and make a half-hearted wish, but pauses and looks back at Dimitri. "Do you... have a birthday?"

"I became active on the twentieth of this past Ethereal Moon," Dimitri nods.

"December," Sylvain translates with a nod back. Dimitri is barely half a year old. _Weird._ He doesn't suppose anyone had popped open a bottle of champagne when the android first opened his blue, blue eyes. "...You wanna blow out the candles with me?"

Dimitri looks positively astonished that Sylvain would ask, but obliges him without too much coercing. The twenty-one flames are soon replaced by fading tendrils of smoke.

"Did you make a wish?" Sylvain asks.

"Was I supposed to?" Dimitri asks in return. "It's your cake."

"It's yours too now," Sylvain _tsks_ and digs in with his utensil. He smiles at Dimitri before taking a bite, expression breaking into pure rapture after he swallows. "Holy shit!"

"Good?"

"Uh- _may_ -zing. Here, try a bite. I'll walk you through it." He puts a forkful of cake up to Dimitri's lips. Androids didn't _need_ to eat, but Dimitri had clarified that they could affect nearly all human behavior for the sake of assimilation. And while Dimitri is clearly having trouble keeping up with his host's capricious whims, he inevitably opens up and lets Sylvain feed him. He chews slowly, blinking at Sylvain with palpable uncertainty.

"The whipped cream is perfect. The sponge is airy and not too sweet. The strawberries are _just_ the right amount of tart. ...And that's all you get, 'cause it's tragically wasted on you. 'kay?"

Dimitri laughs and shakes his head. "I'm very glad it's to your liking."

\---

There's still plenty of time left in the day to get piss drunk. Sylvain hasn't spent a birthday sober since he's been old enough to hold down his drink, and he ought to knock back a few shots for the irony. But, he thinks, it would be a shame if he puked up the cake Dimitri had made for him.

\---

Later, when the dishes are cleared and they're milling about the living room, Sylvain wonders to himself—exactly how long did Miklan have Dimitri for? Since December? Where has Dimitri been the past six months...?

\---

Dimitri says he doesn't entirely remember, when asked. Deterioration was common among older androids, however Dimitri was fresh off the production lines. It could be his memory was wiped, and Sylvain supposes the question is _why_.

Dimitri's gaze darts uncomfortably between Sylvain and the ground. He rubs at his arm, dropping his hand when he notices Sylvain watching, posture turning rigid once more. 

Sylvain silently prompts him with an insistent stare, and Dimitri bows his head again. (He wishes he wouldn't do that.)

"I believe I was in a lab for several months, and reconfigured shortly before I was purchased."

"By Miklan. How long did he have you for?"

"Since yesterday."

Yesterday. That's a long time to spend alone with Miklan.

"What else did he do to you?" Sylvain asks.

Dimitri doesn't seem to want to answer that question, but his hand flits to the back of his neck. Without looking at Sylvain, he sweeps his hair aside and pushes down the standing collar of his shirt to reveal a circular mark dark against his pale synthetic flesh. Android skin was difficult to bruise, and resealed itself after minor lacerations. Only heat— _searing heat_ —could permanently alter its outer structure, and only the immediate members of the family bore a Gautier signet.

"It doesn't hurt," Dimitri says softly.

"But it did." 

Dimitri lowers his hand again, fixing his hair back into place and his collar higher, though it does nothing to hide Sylvain's knowledge of the mark.

"I can take you in to get patched up," Sylvain reminds him. "I'll call tomorrow morning, schedule an appointment for once the storms blow over."

Dimitri says nothing, though the way his hands clasp together in his lap speaks volumes. He's nervous, reluctant even.

"You don't want to go back?" Sylvain ventures. "You can tell me."

"I would prefer not to. I... I'm certain they would reconfigure me. They often do after reconstructive surgery. ...I'd lose my memories again."

It made sense that human technicians would feel safer removing traumatic memories, rather than leaving them to fester. It wasn't anything like deleting a corrupt computer file—a memory was far too complex to be insulated to any single locale, and the only sure way to erase one was to erase all. Dimitri had been branded, and then maimed within the span of a day, and Sylvain wonders how many other scars his self-healing skin might be carrying, if he had been wiped before Miklan had ever gotten ahold of him.

"You'd rather have an ugly tattoo and a missing eye?" Sylvain asks quietly.

Dimitri chances a smile, another small and fragile thing that Sylvain would've missed if he'd blinked.

"I'd rather have memories of a birthday cake than no memories at all."

Sylvain considers all the wine and hard liquor he isn't currently imbibing, and nods tentatively. He thinks he gets it.

\---

He can't figure out the best place to put Dimitri for the night, so he invites him to his bedroom. It would be weird to send him off to another wing when he's been stuck by Sylvain's side all day, and the guest rooms in the manor were so barren it would feel like sentencing him to a prison cell with wallpaper.

Dimitri takes it as a cue to lose his clothes, and Sylvain stares, and stares, until he abruptly realizes Dimitri isn't going to _stop_.

"—Oh, no, I didn't mean it like that," he says, hastily interrupting his roommate before he removes his briefs. "Just, lie down I guess. I'm gonna freak out if I wake up in the middle of the night and see you hovering over me."

He isn't joking. Miklan did it to him a number of times when he was younger, scared him so bad he started having chronic nightmares. Memories bleeding into dreams, and the other way around.

Sylvain fixes his attention on the four-pointed star crossed over the android's right breast, a clear fixture pulsing brightly with blue blood underneath. ...It's quite impossible to ignore the rest of him, too. Sylvain has absolutely no plans to _fuck_ his birthday present, but he can't say the thought doesn't shamefully occur to him in that moment, staring down man's ultimate rendition of man.

He really can't say no to a pretty face and a hot ass, can he? He's almost relieved when they're both covered up by the bedsheets, and he's never been shy a day in his life.

Dimitri is very quiet, as if waiting for Sylvain to speak. At this point, Sylvain isn't sure whether he's actually timid, or just operating according to standard procedure.

"Whatcha thinking about?" Sylvain asks.

"...A question," Dimitri says.

"Shoot."

Dimitri shifts a little, blond hair spilling over his pillow and revealing the bandages over his missing eye.

"I'm afraid it'll make you cross with me."

"Now I wanna hear it even more," Sylvain grins.

"...You are not on good terms with your brother," Dimitri says. There's no inflection at the end of his sentence, but Sylvain understands just the same.

The reason was, quite simply, that Sylvain had been born second. Without responsibilities or expectations, he lived a life of opulent comfort. His mother adored him, and he wanted for nothing. The burden of carrying the family legacy fell on the eldest's shoulders, and each day Miklan crumbled a little more under the weight of it. Each day he hated Sylvain a little more for it.

(And even were it the other way around, Sylvain is sure nothing would change. His grudge would follow him wherever he went.)

"...He hates me for existing, no matter what I do," Sylvain says, eyelids drooping shut. "You just gotta learn to lay low. Don't show your cards."

"I understand," Dimitri says softly. Sylvain doesn't notice the way Dimitri quietly watches him, or how his fingers fidget behind his neck.

"...Thank you, Sylvain. You're very kind."

"'m not that nice," Sylvain promises, his voice a tired mumble. "You made me a great cake, is all."

Dimitri smiles and says nothing, letting him sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> just wanted to toss this idea into the wild for fun! second part may or may not happen but if it does it'll get more warning tags for sure. this was a relatively gentle start...
> 
> some random asides:
> 
> \+ after dimitri was 'factory reset,' he had the default android library/knowledge base reinstalled in his memory, which is why he had access to dedue's recipes. c:
> 
> \+ mercedes' recipes are in there too! the strawberry sponge cake was actually hers and it's one of sylvain's faves.
> 
> \+ re: miklan being an asshole, i kind of liked the idea of him being an asshole across alternate timelines, regardless of circumstances. fated to be an asshole.
> 
> thank you to the gal pals who helped beta!! ilu <3


End file.
